


A Midsummer Night's Debacle

by refinedgluttony



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Arthur is Really Bi, Eventual Smut, GerUK, Ludwig is a Really Gay, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Slow Burn, UkGer, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refinedgluttony/pseuds/refinedgluttony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boring opinion columnist Ludwig Beilschmidt knows nothing of mainstream media until falling hard for rock star Arthur Kirkland. A promotional concert gone wrong makes Mr. Kirkland stakeout at Ludwig's condo until the tabloids stop their snooping. Gay escapades follow them both tirelessly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Electricity

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting this up like I should have a long time ago. This idea kept boiling in my head for some time until it became a monster that demanded to be written. Here goes nothing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ludwig comes to terms with his plain life, and an attractive British musician turns that fact inside out.

   A pen rolled over the stack of papers on Ludwig’s desk, the clip stopping it from going further off the loose leafs.  

   The German-born man took the writing utensil and rolled it between two fingers, tapping it rhythmically on the fat of his palm a few times.  

   It was his favorite fountain pen that he had been using for a month now to take notes with in his old yellow legal pad, which was now curling at the edges from so much use.  

  Interns and employees were running like mad beyond his door, calling out names, places and the dates of scheduled meetings. The sharp yet reassuring smell of coffee took up the remaining air that didn’t smell like clean furniture, carpet and printer paper fresh from the Xerox machine.  

  Ludwig tapped his leather-laden shoe absentmindedly, looking over his word count and computer screen for the hundredth or two hundredth time. It was somewhere in the hundreds, that was for sure; it wouldn’t be Ludwig if he wasn’t a thorough person about his own writing. Spelling errors and other careless things were just the kinds of things that made you look silly in the news column of the New York Times.  

   It was remarkably sunny today, what with all the summer rain that’s been raging on over the city. Ludwig had been cautious to take an umbrella with him anyway because you just never knew and the idea of getting bogged down by rain on a work day was less than a pleasant one. Not to mention the men of the office would never stop teasing him about it if he ever came in with a wet suit.  

 “Hello, Luddy!” The smiling head of Miss Elizaveta from the Fashion column popped in. Her women’s tuxedo was clean pressed and lint free, her heels adding length to the frame of her legs. “How are you today? It’s pretty outside isn’t it?”  

  “Miss Hedevary,” Ludwig started, straightening up in his seat to address his usual visitor. “Yes, it’s very nice outside.”  

  She took three bouncing steps in, putting a hand to shield her eyes as she peered out into the large window to survey the seas of people and miniature cars down below. “I’m so lucky, too! I lost my umbrella at the subway station on my way home yesterday.”   

  “Would you like to borrow mine this afternoon?” Ludwig offered politely, never one to let someone as caring as Elizaveta go without something that she needed. Even if it didn’t rain, being careful was better than leaving it all up to chance.  

  “Oh, you’re so nice, Luddy! But it’s alright. Roderich from Entertainment said he would be happy to share his umbrella with me! I can’t wait for my shift to be over so I can make an excuse to go to Café Dulce Latte with him.” Elizaveta bubbled cheerfully.  

  “I hope the both of you have a wonderful time.” Ludwig replied, drinking the last of the caffeine, staring briefly at the brown saturation staining the bottom of the mug.  

  “Thanks.” Elizaveta smiled. Her eyes ran over the surface of the desk, pausing shortly on the meticulous desk calendar, office supplies, and then to his computer screen. “What’s your work today?” 

  “I’m finishing up an opinion piece on the drug wars currently plaguing South and Central America.” The blonde replied concisely.  

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like a very happy topic.” Elizaveta’s brows crinkled in worry while her hand patted Ludwig on the back. “Romano and Feliciano from Fashion are meeting up with Alfred and Yao from Business to a club this weekend. Would you mind coming for a little fun? If you don’t think it’s too much trouble to go.”   

  The German’s piecing blue ice eyes flickered as they battled the otherwise small decision. It was a very serious condition if he turned down yet another invitation to go out with colleagues. The other men at the office were starting to murmur amongst themselves if he refused an invitation within their earshot. Whispers of “Poor old fellow” or “stone-faced stubbornness” were one of the many petty and strangely unsettling comments he received from time to time.  

 A breath lumbered out from Ludwig’s nostrils, his chair sighing with him as he leaned back in it, agreeing with him that this was a very troublesome decision indeed.  

  “I suppose I can come for a while.” He finally said, his back straightening up as he finished spell checking and sent it away to the editor-in-chief. “Where is it?”  

  Elizaveta’s cheeks inflated with her pleased grin. “It’s at Club Luna. They’re having a special musical performance.” 

  Another head popped into Ludwig’s office.  

  “Oh, am I hearing about the concert at Club Lunaaaaa?” Laura sang. 

  “Wonderful timing, Laura! I was just about to invite you and your brothers too!” Miss Hedevary cheerfully quipped. 

  The catlike smile of Laura de Bourg from Parenting blossomed wider as she floated into the carpeted room, her ribbon holding back her short blonde hair.  “I would love to go, absolutely! I’m not sure if Abel would like to go if not for the drinks but I know I’d definitely love to if Arthur Kirkland is performing!”  

  “Arthur Kirkland?” Ludwig asked with a tip of his head.  

  “You don’t know about Arthur Kirkland, Ludwig?” Elizaveta asked confusedly.  

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I recall a name like that…” Ludwig trailed off, flutters of embarrassment going down his spine. “The name is without a doubt familiar though.”  

  “It’s none other than a fast-growing name in European entertainment right now. Arthur Kirkland is a solo musician from the United Kingdom and now he’s touring here in America. His publicity manager placed a call to get him to perform unannounced at Club Luna as a mystery performer, but word got out of course and now everyone knows and made plans to go see him!” Laura, dancing on the balls of her heels, explained quickly.   

  “I can’t imagine how chaotic that will be,’ Ludwig pointed out, feeling sorry for the poor Brit facing the onslaught of the New York public’s hunger for entertainment.  

  “It definitely will. He’s very good looking!” Elizaveta added, with Laura nodding vigorously in tandem as she said so. 

  “He’s gorgeous! But there’s lots of nasty rumors going around about him being a merciless lothario. Arthur may be attractive but there’s no way I could speak to him. I’d be too scared!” Shaking her head, Laura started talking about the dangers of famous good looking men.  

  Ludwig nodded, agreeing politely with Laura as she talked, but also falling into his own train of thought. Celebrities were treated with a free pass on the disregard of order, rules and morality. Especially spoiled, stuck up, lecherous men who had no time for important matters other than their large paychecks and pleasant company.  

   However, he had already agreed to go, he couldn’t take back his choice, it would make him look…fickle. Fickle was a word Ludwig was not, so to Club Luna he would go.  

  “I’ll be looking forward to the club nonetheless, Miss Hedevary. It was nice of you to invite me, thank you.” He said, pulling a stack of papers neatly on his desk. Though there was no need to; he had restacked the pile minutes ago during the conversation.  

  “I’ll call you so we can all go together, alright Ludwig?” Elizaveta called over her shoulder as she and Laura exited his office, chatting about the attractive traits of a musician that Ludwig had recently learned was internationally famous.  

   The German was left alone with his thoughts on the celebrity.  

   He wasn’t so famous if not even Ludwig had heard of him, right? Although, he admitted that he wasn’t exactly up to date on all things in the media and it wouldn’t hurt to Google him or try to borrow a copy of Rolling Stones from Roderich’s desk.  

   Ludwig tapped away in the search box ‘Arthur Kirkland’ barely typing up the first four letters when it immediately appeared in the suggestions. He clicked and started reading the bio in a Wikipedia entry. Arthur Kirkland was 23, having learned guitar at an early age with a broad vocal range and contracted under Thunderwing Records. The latest album ‘Strung Up’ was a bestseller during the last week with the number one single called Rainy Days. Ludwig looked though the images of the musician and was caught off guard.  

  The man was strikingly beautiful. He appeared fragile and slender, and his eyes were polished emerald stones set against a pale boyish face with high cheek bones being framed with stylishly tousled dark blonde hair. In some pictures he was waif-like, in others he looked like he could play the part of an evil prince from a fantasy novel but in all of them, his disturbingly pretty eyes stared out to Ludwig, inviting him into the screen to dance a forbidden waltz.  

  Clicking through more and more pictures and images, Ludwig’s neck became increasingly hot and he loosened his tie a bit. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, just Googling a celebrity. Many people did that, right? And it’s not as if he was a porn star, Arthur Kirkland seemed to have more dignity than that, although not enough from revealing almost everything in an advertisement for underwear.  

  Ludwig quickly pressed the X on every webpage and turned off his personal computer, trying to ignore the afterimage of Arthur Kirkland’s silhouette against his eyelids.  

  Just a celebrity, another to gawk at and be enamored with for a short time until another one came to replace him. There was nothing else to learn or to know about the musician. Seeing him live in concert wouldn’t change a thing, Ludwig told himself.  

  Gathering his suitcase and coffee mug, he closed his office door and headed to the cubicles in the main building.  

 

* * *

 

   “Hey, Ludwig!” Feliciano cheerfully called the German over to the small hexagon beehive cubicles where Romano, Elizaveta, Laura, Yao and Alfred were all gathered.  

   “Hello, Feliciano,” Ludwig waved a friendly hand and joined them outside of his colleague’s cubicle. “Is everyone in the whole office coming?”  

   Indeed, the office was empty save for a few people here and there in their cubbies.  

   “No, Laura’s brothers couldn’t come.” Elizaveta answered, wrapping what was no doubt a designer brand scarf around her neck. “Honestly, the chief works them both pretty hard.” 

   “You’re damn right.” Romano agreed quickly after. “Honestly that bastard has to loosen up his ass or someday someone will deck him. Preferably me.”  

   “Nah, I just think he takes his job too seriously. Sure the guy has to loosen up but what he needs is to relax once in a while. Just because we’re the New York Times doesn’t mean he’s training the US Marines.” Alfred said, pulling on his hoodie jacket over his button up.  

   Ludwig glanced at his wristwatch and straightened his clothes. “We should get going. The concert will start in the late evening but if we get there early we can beat the crowd.”  

   “That’s Ludwig for you! Always early, never late.” Feliciano bubbled appreciatively, while his brother, Romano, scoffed.  

   “I don’t think being early will make a difference,” Yao cut in, his gloved hands pointing an index finger. “Traffic is going to be an absolute mess.”  

   Romano huffed. “It’s New York; big fucking surprise.” 

   After a few arguments between Romano and Ludwig about whether to take the subway or a taxi, the group agreed that walking would indeed be the faster route and all exited the building, with Romano grumbling but walking briskly with the group nonetheless.  

   “Oh, look! Everyone look up at the screen!” Laura pointed out an advertisement on a nearby building and a pale familiar face was smiling easily through the screen at the audience. 

  “It’s Arthur Kirkland!” A teenage girl from a crowd pointed her hand up in excitement, and Ludwig had to look.  

  It was a soda commercial that featured the artist’s upcoming performance at Madison Square Garden.  

  Once more it was hard to tear his attention away from the musician’s eyes, Ludwig had noticed. They were a very lovely shade of forest green and the tall blonde man wondered if it was special lighting effects that made them look so rich and glittery.  

   “Hurry up you potato munching bastard, let’s get going!” Romano griped angrily, pulling along his younger brother Feliciano with him to catch up with Yao and Alfred. “You can ogle the guy later when we reach the club.”  

   Ludwig snapped out of his trance rather curtly and began to walk again as they entered an underground opening to the subway tunnel.

 

* * *

 

   Splashing away the pink from his cheeks, Arthur rubbed the water out of his eyes as it dripped down to his chin.  

  He stood there at the sink in one of the water closets, or “bathrooms” as they called it here in the former colonies. The reflection in the mirror showed a pink flush in his cheeks and hair soaked from water. The lighting was bright, even though the space was a bit cramped for his liking. 

   Green eyes caught sight of the moving shadows and lights from underneath the door that led outside, to a club hall alive with music and the heat of dancing bodies in one room.  

   Someone rapped on the door. “Come on, Artie let’s get you to make up!”  

   A redheaded man with the spitting complexion of Arthur opened the door. “Ready to go, baby bro? Your public awaits.”

 

* * *

 

   Ludwig did not feel like a wall flower.  

   Wall flowers were small, fragile, little things. Wall flowers could be swept away on their feet to dance by someone strong and charming. Wall flowers were cute young girls that played coy and giggled at jokes. Wall flowers had a chance to be noticed.  

  Ludwig felt thousands of light years away from the word “wall flower”.  

  If anything, he was a wall mountain. He couldn’t invite anyone to dance, it was like he developed an allergic reaction to human interaction when surrounded by loud mainstream music, dancing anatomies and the presence of alcohol. If anyone approached him, his intimidating appearance would make them walk away as if aborting an impossible mission. He couldn’t help it, he got tense easily and it showed.  

 It was humiliating. He didn’t know what to do.  

 A hand rested on his shoulder. It was Alfred.  

 “Hey Ludwig! Doin’ alright?” His megawatt smile was confident and carefree. Ludwig didn’t remember a moment where he saw Alfred lose his cool over something like a club. Even though he was the superior, Ludwig really wished he could have Alfred’s social butterfly skills.  

 “I think I should leave…” Ludwig began, shifting his weight between his left to his right foot and gripping his hand around his beer bottle restlessly.  

 “What? The music’s too loud!” Alfred yelled, pointing at his ear to emphasize.  

 “I said I think I should leave!”   

 The shorter blonde scrunched up his face at the idea of leaving. “Why? We just got here.”  

  Ludwig shook his head, refraining from saying that it had felt like a good 20 minutes to him.  

  20 minutes of all this was all he could take. “I feel stupid.”  

 “You aren’t stupid! You’re just not… used to this that’s all. Give it some time. If you want I can get Laura to dance with you, at least try one song before you leave.” Alfred’s face was sympathetic but with his freakish strength, he forced Ludwig to abandon his beloved beer on the bar counter top to the dance floor where Elizaveta, Laura and Feliciano were dancing. “Come on, it won’t hurt to try!”  

  Stiff movements were what carried Ludwig over as he tried to escape the surf of busy people in movement. But the power of the crowd and the energy was so contagious, it made Ludwig become increasingly invigorated.  

  As his feet were starting to pick up a rhythm from a temple deep inside of his muscles, he noticed that a stage hand was picking up a generator box near stage right.   

  All the lights were shut off. The crowd stirred, momentarily blinded by the sudden jet blackness and a few even heckled and booed the DJ for turning off the music along with the lights.  

  “Guess who came to Club Luna, New York?!” A voice belonging to (most likely) the DJ boomed from the speakers.  

  As inconvenienced as the throngs of people were by the absence of their precious music and light show, they all remembered why it was so crowded in the first place and they came alive in a bonfire surge of heat and screams.  

  “Kirkland, Kirkland, Kirkland!” The chanting of the crowd was deafening, and for a moment Ludwig was sure his hearing was broken as women, men and others led a battle cry and it broke into more screams as a single spotlight lit. Out stepped a prince of darkness into center stage. Eyes a rich peridot, bathed in light and dressed in a river of ink, skulls decorated his right fingers and a flannel scarf crowned his blonde hair. Arthur Kirkland was poised over the microphone, a red glittering guitar in his hands like a scepter.  

  The crowd behind Ludwig pushed and surged like a storm, and he found himself being propelled forward through the jet stream of people, being washed along the island of the stage, looking up to the proximity of the single performer basked in light.  

   Lips greeted the microphone. “Rainy days… how I long and wish you’d go away,” Arthur sang the opening lines then his slender fingers dashed madly on the strings of the electric guitar, making music flood the club hall once more.  

  Ludwig tried his best to push back against the trench of adrenaline, nearly being swallowed by the swell of fans. Bouncers did their best to calm the invasion of hands from the stage back out into the dance floor, but it was no use. The frenzy coiled and swallowed up the unfortunate person that dared come near.  

  “Ludwig!” A familiar voice barely floated from the depths of roars to reach the German’s ear. He turned his head to see Laura barely managing against the crowd, her tall frame being pushed around like a rag doll.  

  An instinct to protect kicked in. He dove into the mob and fought the tsunami that made up the worst of the dancers, taking Laura under his stead. Her strong arms and his joined to make a buffer to the warzone surrounding them. Quickly he lead her outside to adrenaline-free air, and there they met Alfred and Romano, who had barely managed to salvage themselves out.  

  “It’s like a Black Friday sale in there! Almost,’ Alfred said heavily as he tried catching his breath, his cheeks told the tale of a mad dash. “It’d be exactly like a Black Friday sale if there was a mosh pit.”  

  “Fuck that shit, I’m out,’ Romano gasped, not one bit amused by Alfred’s Black Friday sale joke. “The drinks were good but the crowd was a pack of wolves.”  

  “Where is everyone else?” Ludwig asked, wondering whether Elizaveta, Feliciano and Yao had made it out safely. It sounded something like police sirens in the distance.  

  “Yao left early.” Alfred explained, straightening his jacket. “Said the music was too loud.”  

  “He _would_ leave with such an old-man thing to say!” Laura laughed.  

  “I’m glad he left before it got crazy though.” The bespectacled blonde added.  

  “We’re here~!” The familiar voice of Elizaveta tittered as she and Feliciano entered the conversation from the light show of the club. The song blared for a moment from the open doors until it was muffled again as it swung shut.  

  “Arthur Kirkland was so cool, wasn’t he? I barely got to see him before it became a den of lions.” Laura complained with a chuckle.   

  “Ah well. We’ll still have a chance to see him at Madison Square.” Elizaveta smiled. “I pre-ordered tickets with a little help from Roderich.” 

  “Gotta admit, the song was pretty catchy, right Romano?” Alfred turned to the older Vargas brother in question. 

  “Wh-what? I couldn’t care less.” The olive eyed man huffed.  

  “Come on, I saw you nodding your head along.”  

  “I was thinking of another song. Besides, what’s so great about that Kirkland bastard?” Romano said as he crossed his arms over his blazer, his expression dour.  

  “Aw, Roma’s jealous of the famous musician!” Laura teased, poking the Italian’s cheek. 

  “No I’m not! I barely learned he existed yesterday!”  

  “Did you like the song, Ludwig?” Feliciano asked over the Belgian’s continued teasing over his older brother. With a tip of his head, he looked up at the much taller blonde.  

  “Oh? Yes, I-I did.” Ludwig said honestly. It was fast paced but he really did find it pleasant.  

  “Well, if that’s it then I’m heading home. I don’t want to get swamped by the cops when they show up if you ask me.” Romano said, and indeed the sirens Ludwig knew he had heard were already blaring in the near distance.  

   “You don’t think there’d be an accident, do you big bro?” Feliciano fretted anxiously to his older brother. His hands were shaking lightly at the idea of people getting hurt. The older Italian-born lightly bonked him on the head in reassurance.  

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure the police and paramedics will handle any serious crap, okay? Calm down.”  

  Ludwig, who was listening intently to all the sirens and the muffled music inside suddenly stop, let a hand slip into his coat where a camera was weighing down in a pocket. His fingers closed around the strap near the eyelet.  

  Maybe if he hung back from the group to take a closer look, he could maybe catch some photos to submit to Roderich later to cover in the paper. Not that he was hoping to catch a picture of Arthur Kirkland, of course, he was no star struck fan, but the possibility was ghosting in the back of his mind. If he could somehow bypass the crowd in the confusion, he could be able to take a snapshot of the whole situation.  

  Ludwig blinked hard a few times at the ridiculous thoughts going through his head. He wasn’t the paparazzi, this was no time to be taking photos of celebrities like some tabloid reporter. Ludwig Beilschmidt was better than that, he was a news columnist, not some no-account stalker. Maybe he should forget about the whole thing and let the rest of the media make smoke over this whole debacle in the morning news coverage.  

  But there wouldn’t be much coverage from TV as there were in newspapers. American media had a reputation of being a little biased and reporting little bits of information, not the whole situation.  

  Shortly after Romano and Feliciano both left with the girls, it was just Alfred and Ludwig left near the entrance (if by “near”, you meant “across the street as far away from the club overflowing with cop cars” then yes, very near the entrance).  

  “You doing anything later Ludwig? Going back to the office and doing some overnight work?” Alfred asked. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, where Ludwig could hear house keys jangle.  

  “Not really,’ Ludwig sighed. “It’s been very…crazy.”  

   Alfred chuckled, nodding his head a bit in agreement. “Yeah, same here. Say, don’t you live in a condo nearby?”  

  “Yes, I do. I’ll be able to walk, it’s just a few streets over.”  

  “Did you agree to come with us because you thought ‘Hey, I guess I’ll go, it’ll be the same way home’?” Alfred bluntly quipped.  

   _Well, it wouldn’t be Alfred if he_ _beat around the bush_ , Ludwig thought.  

   He admired the way the bespectacled blonde could be very honest with himself and with others regardless of any circumstance. Ludwig envied him more than Alfred himself would realize.  

   “Well, no. I really didn’t like how people thought I was so uptight all the time. I could have fun too. I’m just not used to relaxing around others without a drink or two.” 

  “Oh yeah!” Alfred’s head jerked up in discovery. “That’s why you didn’t want to let go of your beer! Sorry, man.”  

  “It’s alright, I’m not exactly going to cry about it.” Ludwig chuckled.  

  Alfred smiled back. “Right.”  

   The two of them just stood there when a huge smoke bomb encased the side entrance of the club. A small group of indistinct figures silhouetted against the city nightscape were booking it down the alley from the upended door, and shortly after a mob of people followed through behind the small group, bright orbs shuttered their flashes as the paparazzi was stopped after they came out of the club. The police and security were holding the drizzling flood of fans and camera crews back just in time.  

  “ _Whoa_ , didja see that?! They totaled that door just to get out!” Alfred pumped his fist, stars in his eyes at the events that just unfolded in front of their very eyes. Even if it was across the street, with squad cars and New York traffic in the way.  

  “I hope they made it out alright.” Ludwig said half-heartedly, honestly not in the mood to care if Arthur Kirkland made it out. Some way or another, celebrities found a way to escape the media and hordes of fans. Their methods were both risky and ingenious, Ludwig had to give credit where it was due.  

  “Man, I can’t wait to tell my brother I got to see a paparazzi chase with an explosion in it!” Alfred was practically jumping up and down in excitement and Ludwig wondered at his energy. If a company could bottle some of Alfred’s excitement, he was sure they’d make millions off of it.  

  “Well, good night Alfred. I’ll see you at the office.”  

  “Bye, Ludz. See ya in the morning!”  

  Making his sure way through the familiar ads and streets of the city, Ludwig was thinking hard about the evening’s events while walking through pedestrians. He was appreciative that he had said yes to Elizaveta’s offer. He had been talked (er, forced) into dancing with close co-workers, saw a celebrity up close live on stage, and witnessed a paparazzi chase. Albeit, the last one wasn’t very fortunate for anyone but at least it had brought some excitement.  

  Red street lights turned green and he crossed the white lines to his street in front of the building where he lived.  

   For an evening out, it wasn’t so bad, he thought. Maybe this was the kind of thing he needed from time to time, to dedicate some of his extra time to going out to have a bit of fun. He greeted the front desk and pressed an elevator button to go up from the lobby. From there, he met the calm hall of the floor of his condo, and took out his keys for the door.  

  Next time he could try dancing first before anyone else. Wouldn’t that be something?  

  As his fingers juggled with the keys, his other hand took out the camera from his pocket. Thinking back, he didn’t know why he bought it, he wasn’t a reporter, but maybe…part of him wanted to be. As mortifying as having to appear on local or national TV sounded, it was still a whimsical idea he kept hidden away in a drawer, maybe even a secret dream of his. But he really shouldn’t expect much. He was a writer not a reporter, no matter how much he morphed the idea into something that could possibly happen if the circumstances were right.  

   It was just the way things were. Why should he try fate?  

   He opened the door to greet the empty hall that led to the kitchen. Surprisingly, his dogs weren’t yipping at his feet. Then again it was very late. They were probably waiting for him in the bedroom.  

   “I’m home,” he announced, more to affirm himself than anything else. He closed the door and glanced at the coat rack, seeing a black coat that he didn’t remember putting there but maybe he had left by mistake? Sometimes he put a coat there when he knew it would be cold, but black? It was midsummer in New York.  

   Maybe Gilbert had swiped his extra house key and put it there as a prank.  

   Walking into the living room, he saw the remote on the couch and not near the TV like it should be. He always left it there, and the room didn’t feel like it had been undisturbed for the time he was at the office. Like someone was there or had been.  

   “Gilbert if you’re in here, this is not funny.” Ludwig said loudly to the room, and was surprised to not hear an answer. He walked through the kitchen and his ear perked up to the sound of the shower-head running. “Gilbert?”

 

* * *

 

  Arthur craned his neck up from the shower, his head and shoulders were already drenched in hot, relaxing water.  

  He had thought he had heard a voice.  

  His manager didn’t set him up with an occupied flat right? He was sure it was empty.  

  The place was so clean, it seemed like it hadn’t been used in months.  

   After the small performance was cancelled, his brother had made a quick deal with the building manager, hoping to have a place to hide until the maddening horde was shooed away by the pigs and security.  

  He just hoped no one had seen him being ushered into the building, especially paparazzi.  

  Arthur positively loathed paparazzi. Their stupid obnoxious cameras in his face, their sweaty handed microphones jabbing his chin, impertinent, snarky questions about him, his thoughts, his opinions, what would he do, when will the next concert be, can we quote you on that? It was infuriating. He had wanted to make music, not answer silly questions like favorite colors and shampoo preferences.  

   It was like he was some sideshow freak being exposed for all the world to see, watching and waiting for the moment that the pressure would make him fall to ruin. What’s a chap to do?   

  The latch of a door opened.  

  Despite the hot water, Arthur’s blood ran cold. His eyes darted through a beige opening of the curtain, the steam clearing to let him see a bulky forearm enter the room. 

  Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_ , **_shit_**.  

 “Gilbert, are you using my shower? You didn’t bring your baby chick again, did you? I don’t want its feathers in my sink again.” The person beyond the shower curtain grumbled.  

  That was definitely not room service.  

  _Ar_ _gh_ , Arthur _knew_ he shouldn’t have let his brother do all the deciding!  

   How the hell was he going to explain his presence to someone while _using_ that someone’s shower! _?_ He was trespassing!  

  To make things worse, he had left his clothes that he wore from the performance in clear view in front of this stranger who most likely had heard of him, even if there was a small chance that he didn’t know who he was, or if he was there at Club Luna, there was still the solid outcome of being arrested for a misdemeanor.  

  There was no easy way for this to go. Might as well get it over with. 

  Arthur switched off the water and he opened the curtain to show his face. 

  Fuck it. 


	2. Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ludwig Beilschmidt (with difficulty) has accepted that he indeed has a European rock star in his condo, and struggles with conversation and a... temptation.

  Ludwig had already been piecing together that this was not Gilbert.

  Kneeling, he picked up the clothes on the floor and smelled the minty fresh scent that Gilbert did not smell like.

  These clothes were a bit familiar, but the German couldn’t wrack his brain hard enough to piece together where he had seen them before…until a voice spoke from the shower and he was greeted with those eyes.

  God, those eyes. They were dauntingly green, a direct contrast to Ludwig’s own icy blue.

  They were the same eyes that made him feel like he was exposed and see-through and a deep forest green hue.

   Seeing the rest of the stranger’s face he came to a complete realization.

   He had a stranger in his house. A famous stranger.

   “I’m Arthur Kirkland,” said the British musician. “Sorry for inconveniencing you, but I had to use your shower. It’s not good to go to sleep with sweat down your neck, right? Ha ha…”

   Ludwig felt like his nervous system had been filled with quick-dry cement, and he felt his pupils dilate as his eyes widened.

   “Are… you alright there, chap?” The soaked celebrity asked, a slender hand wiping his thick eyebrows.

   In a miraculous second, Ludwig untethered himself from his knee on the floor, walked mechanically out of the bathroom and shut the door slowly and calmly despite the storm of shock taking place in his brain.

   Arthur Kirkland was in his bathroom. Arthur Kirkland was using his shower.

   If it had been anyone else, it would be very easy to just go to bed and pretend this was all a dream but that was simply something Ludwig didn’t do. It wouldn’t solve anything at all. Additionally, he had to prove to himself if he was hallucinating or not to be able to schedule an appointment with his doctor. 

  There was a knock at the door. “Artie? You good in there? I brought you clothes.”

   Sighing for what felt like the millionth time in the day, Ludwig opened the door.

   “Yes?”

   It was a red headed man who looked akin to Arthur, but on sight of Ludwig, the man’s legs turned to jelly and his jaw visibly slackened. He nearly dropped the bag of clothes he was carrying.

   “Oh! H-hi s-sir! Um, have you seen a guy with blonde—“

   “Arthur’s in the shower.” Ludwig said simply.  

   “Ah? So you’re alright with him using your flat?” The man asked, his face straightening.

   “I wouldn’t say that.” The German let the man into his condo, and heard him explain that he was Alistair, Arthur Kirkland’s brother.

   “Sorry for moving in on you like this, but we needed a place to keep him until the madness dies down. It won’t be for long, I promise. We can even compensate ya, if you’d like.”

   “That won’t be necessary…” Ludwig paused, careful with his choice of words. “Um, it wouldn’t be right of me to accept that kind of offer. Please, have a seat.”

  “You sure?” Alistair asked, making himself at home with one of the counter bar stools. “We’d be more than happy to take care of expenses such as electricity, food and other things.”

  “It won’t make that much difference.”

   It was true, the sum would level out if he finally used his home appliances for cooking meals for his new…guest.

   “My guess is that the manager was a fan of my little brother’s and wanted to accommodate him no matter what, so she gave us her best condo,” Alistair explained, tapping his phone screen for the time and swiftly pocketed the device. “Turns out it was yours. A simple mix up is all. We’ll be gone by the time the tabloids get tired of nosing around.”

  “Right…” Ludwig trailed absentmindedly.

 The ginger eyed the coffee table then back to Ludwig. “You don’t mind him staying, then?”

 “Well, no, not really it’s just… sudden. I’m not sure—will he need anything? Does he prefer specific things like… I don’t know, uh—celebrity things?” Ludwig was suddenly conscious of how small his home was compared to the world of a star. Seeing how things were, he didn’t know the first thing to keeping a famous musician comfortable.

 “Not really. He hates being spoiled, believe me. When he came up to me when he first started out he was all ‘Oi, I just want to make music and perform. None of the diamonds and rubies horseshit.’ Treat him fairly, he’s human, same as you. Just be sure to get him tea and a good book.”  

 Alistair made his way back out and turned to Ludwig with a smile. “Take care of him, it won’t be long and don’t worry if he says the opposite of what he means. His heart is in a locked safe.”  

 The door closed, leaving Ludwig to wonder whether the ginger meant that last comment metaphorically or literally

 

* * *

 

    The towel was warm and smelled clean like the rest of the flat when Arthur had first entered.

  When he had seen the man… what was his name? He’d have to make sure and introduce himself properly once he was done changing.

   Ah, clothes. Didn’t he hear his brother talking about bringing them in?

   Well, he’ll get to that.

   Anyway, the man.

  He was huge; a fucking mountain of toned muscles. Not bad looking, he’d have to admit. His blonde hair had been brushed back and his eyes were a piercing blue.

 The condo was very nice, perhaps he had a good paying job? Judging by his tie, trousers, and collar, he worked in an office or something. Boring old Billy no-mates, maybe. Course, Arthur wasn’t one to judge. The tour hardly allowed time for friends outside of studios and public meet and greets.

 Arthur wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into the carpeted hall to the living room, on the table near the kitchen he saw his travel bag left by Alistair. He unzipped it and the man, now sitting on the couch, looked up at him. His eyes widened.

 “Oh you’re done? W-well, make yourself comfortable. I can move an extra bed—“

 “Don’t worry yourself,” Arthur interrupted, slipping on his t-shirt and denim jeans. “I’d rather sleep on the couch. May I ask for your name?”

  “…right.” The other blonde answered slowly and stood up to shake hands. “I’m Ludwig Beilschmidt.”

  Arthur took it firmly, returning it with close eye contact. “Arthur. My brothers call me Artie.”

 “A pleasure.” Ludwig twitched with the exchange of glances, and it made Arthur realize just how tense the other man was. The taller man didn’t seem to be freaking out, that was well and good. He was glad that it turned out to be someone who wouldn’t go bonkers at letting him stay.

  However, the camera on the table didn’t escape Arthur’s eye. A hiss nearly escaped from his mouth at the black iridescent lens jeering soullessly at him.

 “Is photography one of your hobbies?” He asked Ludwig, a bitter flint in his voice.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to be a reporter. It’s a silly dream of mine more than a serious passion. The camera belongs to a friend of mine;  I’m an opinion columnist at the Times.”

 “Oh, right.” Arthur tried hard not to sound impolite, but just the mention of the word “reporter” was enough to irk him.

 Ludwig’s eyes shifted and he rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “I’m guessing you don’t like the media at all…”

 “I find them perfectly unpleasant,” The musician confirmed, sitting down on the couch with his legs crossed angrily and his arms folded tightly, narrowing his shoulders a bit. If there was an expertise to angrily cross your legs while still retaining poise, Arthur was a master. “The lot of them are all bigots. And that’s putting it nicely.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,’ Ludwig felt regret at his decision to talk. Perhaps Arthur was peckish? How often did musicians eat? “Are you hungry?”

  Arthur began to lie down on the couch, pulling the towel over his eyes. “Just tired. I don’t suppose you have tea, do you?”

  “Would black tea be fine?” Ludwig asked, finding himself rummaging through some pantry doors in his kitchen for a tea box.

  “That’s alright. I was feeling in the mood for black too, I’ll brew it.” Arthur stood up to enter the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to; you’re the guest.” The German insisted, placing a tea bag into a kettle.

  Arthur’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “Are you always this hospitable to perfect strangers?”

  Ludwig felt his face grow hot at the half compliment. “Well, if it isn’t too inconvenient of me to offer you at least decent politeness.”  

  “Now I never said _that_ , Mr. Beilschmidt.” The Brit chuckled, enjoying the red blush creeping into the taller man’s face. For a man with an intimidating scowl, he was … adorable, dare he say. “Alright, you can do me the loving favor of preparing my tea if it calls upon your hospitable manners.”

   Arthur found himself sipping a well-brewed cup of tea a bit later, the comfort of its smell and taste a welcome change to all the strangeness that’s recently happened. Predominantly the strangeness of living at a stranger’s condo. But well, that was to be the least of his worries. If he knew tabloid reporters, he would be certain that at least one or two of them were still sniffing around, investigating all the surrounding hotels to see if any unknown and recent guest had escaped into their lobbies.

  The open window called to Arthur’s anxiety, but he decided not to call attention to it at the present.

  “So how did it start?”

  “Hmm?” The musician hummed into his tea, flitting his eyes to the taller blonde who was pouring himself a mug. “Come again?”

  “The incident at Club Luna?”

  “Oh, so you’ve heard of it.” Arthur sighed, leaning into the chair where he was sat, forming a protective hold onto the cup of tea like it was made of gold.

  “I was in the crowd with my co-workers and we all left after it got out of hand.” Ludwig explained, sipping gingerly at the taste of the leaves.

  “Well, a speaker had short circuited and one of my guitarists was nearly electrocuted. We had to cut the performance short to move off-stage to a less dangerous area and that’s when a group of people knocked down a bouncer. We all had to leg it out of the side exit to avoid being crushed by the frenzy.”

   “Terrifying. At least no one was injured.” Ludwig offered, hoping to bring at least a small positive note to the otherwise bleak conversation.

   “Can’t say much for the reporters, though.” Arthur said. One of his fingers toyed with a packet of artificial sweeteners.

   “Mm.” Ludwig grunted in agreement. “Who started the bomb?”

   “Alistair.”

  “Oh.”

 There was a pleasant and thoughtful silence, the sound of the traffic from outside lingering into the living room before entering the kitchen where the two were sat. A curtain rose and fell with a breath, and the clock ticked patiently.

 The silence became prickly.

  _Damn,_ Arthur thought warily. _There’s nothing more to talk about. This is awkward._

 Ludwig was thinking along the same idea, his mind was trying to come up with a topic to discuss. But he couldn’t ask him about his career, already having read his fill from stalk- er, -reading Arthur’s Wikipedia biography. There was probably nothing more he should know, other than his preferences for food or tea.

 “Say, tell me more about yourself, Ludwig.”

 Arthur’s voice curtly cut off Ludwig’s train of thought. “Me?”

 “Yeah, more about your job. Co-workers, day-to-day routine, anything really.” The musician offered.

 Ludwig shifted stiffly in his seat, his hands lying flat against the table, then quickly placing them on his lap instead. “I suppose there’s nothing more to know. I work in the opinion column. I recently wrote upon the drug cartels in South America and what activists were offering to solve it. I have three dogs, and an older brother named Gilbert who comes to visit sometimes. And well…” he slumped. “That’s all.”

  “That’s all that happens?” Arthur asked with a twinkle in his eye, wondering if Ludwig could tell that the simplicity in his life was actually interesting to him.

  “I’m not sure what you were expecting. It’s not exactly an exciting life.”

   Arthur blew a huff of laughter through his nose. “It may sound like a load of bull, but I’m sort of jealous,” He leaned forward, holding his chin in his hands. “I barely remember what it’s like to have a normal life. Now it’s just… stressful, intrusive and bothersome. It’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes.”

   “And the uh…women?”

   A curious tilt of the head from Arthur. “What about women?”

   Ludwig stared in sudden interest at the tag of the tea bag. “Is it true what they say?” The words seemed to tumble gracelessly out of the German’s over-heating face. “About you sleeping around?”

   He glanced up to see green eyes staring at him interestingly.

   “Well it’s not bad to want some pleasurable company around is it?”

  The gaze was as sharp as needles, and Ludwig grew hotter with each heavy second.

  He sat up brusquely. A spoon dropped to the ground from his sudden movement.

  “I’ll go prepare the sofa for you.”

“Um…sure, alright then.” Arthur whisked back, interested in the taller man’s flustered departure from the table.

    Was he a...virgin?

     No way. He looked about 24 or 25 and he had never had time for a little fuck?

   No, he shouldn't assume things. Then again, the bumbling mass of muscles did look the type to have never seen a tit. And that blush from before... there was something definitely there.

   Ludwig walked into the living room from a hall closet, a neatly folded quilt in his hands.

   Arthur drummed his hands on the edge of the table, peering at his host from the corner of his eye.

  If that were the case, then he as a fellow human would have to help him out in that area. Arthur grinned pleasantly to himself, sipping the remainder of his black tea. He, rockstar that he was, would be the highest authority to getting laid. He could only imagine the gratitude from Mr. Beilschmidt after The Good Lay and swearing to never let anything between him and another Good Lay ever again. Ludwig was a good-looking sort. There’s bound to be a girl (or man, if that were the case) to accept a proposition.

 

* * *

 

    After setting up the couch as comfortably as possible for a musician used to shakey tour buses and air turbulence during sleep cycles, Ludwig politely bid Arthur a good night and went off to his room.

   Mr. Kirkland began to undress from his shirt first and thought he imagined the all-too-familiar whirring sound of a lens focusing on him.

   He had an ear for those things; it was only natural after being robbed of privacy during the climb to stardom.

  He slowly swerved about, looking for the source of the sound. There was only the open window from before, the nightlife leaking through into the room. Grunting, he slid it shut and pulled the curtains closed for good measure.

   Arthur found himself relaxing more easily now that he knew the only window in the room was obscured from any prying eyes. Walking back to the couch, he failed to see a glint coming from a crack in the doorway of Ludwig’s room.

   As he fell into a comfortable sleep on the couch, failing to hear Ludwig’s door close, and the sound of a camera bag being zipped up from the other side.

 

* * *

 

   Ludwig clutched the camera to his chest for dear life.

  The rush of adrenaline was vividly pumping through his system from what he had done.

  His pupils shook in the aftermath of such a brazen action on his part.

  It had been sudden, but he didn’t know why.

  He had taken pictures of Arthur Kirkland without the other’s consent.

  The uptight man knew that that sort of thing was immoral, irrational, and very impertinent.

  And yet... he had done it. He had taken five pictures of Arthur as he undressed for sleep and hid like a coward when he thought he would almost get caught.

    Guilt smothering him in waves, he lowered the camera and held his hand to his face, staring into his room but not actually seeing it.

    How could he have done this? He felt sick, he felt disgusting.

    He brought up the camera and looked through the pictures he had taken.

    Arthur Kirkland’s pale and lean back peaking through the bottom of his shirt.

   Arthur Kirkland’s spine curving delicately forward as he disposed of his shirt.

   Arthur Kirkland’s hair falling to the left as he bent up again.

   Arthur Kirkland stretching his arms out to reach for something out of view.

   Arthur Kirkland’s hands rubbing his neck and waist.

   Despite his shame, Ludwig felt his face grow hot and bothered. Seeing the pictures awoke an ember of desire and lust that he tried hard to not feel but felt anyway.

   He instinctively hid the camera, feeling a bit stupid for it because it wasn’t as if he had been caught in the act. But his morals were screaming at him behind the back door of his mind, that it was wrong, it was wrong.

   Ludwig felt a hodgepodge of satisfaction and dread.

   It was just like they said in Ludwig’s pornographic movies hidden behind his bookcase.

   How could something so wrong feel so good?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hard to finish this chapter, sorry! Will do better next time definitely!  
> Comments feed my writerly soul.  
> Wanna chat or check progress? Visit my tumblr www.embasan-tan.tumblr.com/


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